BLÜD-MONEY
by sdhalfacre
Summary: Dick Grayson's emotions are put into a tailspin. How far will the downward spiral take him?
1. Part One of Six: A Night of Hell

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BLUDMONEY

By

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Scott D. Halfacre

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Legal crap: I have no cash, am not making any off this, don't won the characters, leave me be.

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CHAPTER ONE

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It feels great to be back in my rightful outfit. I feel lighter, faster and more maneuverable and yes even a little stronger. That's a funny comment if you knew what I had just been through. 

There is no wind to speak of and the night is cool and damp; the air seems to just hang there waiting for your lungs to breathe it in. The smell in Bludhaven is different from the air here in Gotham. Gotham is somehow everything Bludhaven is, multiplied by ten. I grew up here, but I wouldn't want to live here.

Bludhaven is now my home. I'm only here in Gotham cause I owed a friend; I owe Bruce. It's a debt that I can never repay in my lifetime. If I lived to the age of 900 I could never find the time to repay him. As much grief as I've been given, I've been given something more.

Bruce gave me life.

I was once a bright and shiny Robin, next to his shadow of the Bat. I am now a shadow also and a new person has the title of Robin, along with the colorful suit. I used to think whoever made that was colorblind. I know better now, I know he was.

"Would you have left me in the cold?" Tim's not looking at me and his voice is distant, even though he is only a couple feet away.

He's staring down at the docks below us through his binoculars. I'm sure being left out of the Doe situation hurt his feelings. Ironically enough, I was hurt at being called in on a moments notice, I guess that shows Bruce does have some sort of confidence in me. He'd never say it though; I've grown up with him and can still count on one hand where I felt 'worthy'.

"Judging by the shape he's been in for a week, would you?" I decide to try and avoid the question and deviate it back to him.

"You're avoiding the question." Tim always was the brainy one. "But I see your point."

The kid has a head on his shoulders; he's only a few years shy of me yet I feel a lot older. I've seen a lot of things in my time. Even though sometimes I wish my life were different, I don't think I really do.

"I still think I could have helped." His legs move slightly but aside from that movement Tim hasn't moved at all in the past 57 minutes. He's got the discipline.

"You did help. I just wish I could have done more." I cast a look over my shoulder; it's a reflex movement. I never expect anything to be there, it's just something I do at times when I feel uncomfortable. It's come in handy a few times.

"He seems to cause that feeling in all of us." As I said… Tim always was the brainy one.

"Nothing yet?" I shift my weight from my left leg to the other and feel the slight twinge of pain from the bullet wound. The waiting is the worst part for me. I just always would rather be acting than waiting. 

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Patience is a virtue.

I smile to myself. Even lying in pain in a bed far away from here with the ever-vigilant Alfred watching over him, I can still hear Bruce's voice; his teachings.

"Nada." Tim still gazes through the binocs. "Oracle did say it was Pier 12, right?"

"Are you questioning me, her or yourself?" I walk in a small circle and come to stop at the edge of the building and glance up and down the road leading parallel with the docks. Nothing.

"Neither," Tim looks over his shoulder at me. "Change of subject?"

"Thanks." Said in my most sarcastic tone. "Don't you know you aren't supposed to tell the person when you are changing the conversation?"

"You asked." He said shrugging and going back to his binocs.

As I said… Tim always was the brainy one.

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"When?" Tim asked for once ignoring his duty.

"Yesterday." I smile and squat next to the door that is the roof access for the building and lean back into it.

"Some guys have all the luck." Tim shakes his head slightly.

"You may call it luck, but let me tell you it's practically a curse." I start checking the compartments in my gloves. This is probably another reflex action on my part. I mean I can recall everything that is in there, yet still I check it.

_You can never be too prepared._

Uh huh. I hope this doesn't happen on my wedding night. I'll need a shrink for sure.

"Sure… curse. Whatever." Tim shrugs without looking. "Where do you find the time for all of them?"

"I don't." I laugh slightly and my back aches slightly. 

I may be getting too old for this sh--

"It seems to me you make enough time." Tim's left hand moves slightly as he focuses the lens. 

"It seems." Maybe he's got something.

"I'm just saying that you have Barbara right? And now you ha--" 

"I don't have her." I cut him off.

"Yeah, I'm just saying that--"

"I know what you are saying." My voice is harder and colder than I meant.

Tim meant nothing by the comment; it's just 'guy talk'. But she's been one of very few women that move me to such extents. I would do anything for her.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to snap at ya." I stand up and my leg twinges again, less than it has all week though. I think that's a good sign.

"I know." Tim stands and checks the time on the watch underneath the glove on his left hand, he has something. "But with Barbara, Clancy, Helena and who knows who else… I'd be tried."

"It's not like that." I don't know what it's like.

"You have no clue what it's 'like' do you?" Tim slyly smiles and puts the binocs away.

"Short Round… no man in the world does." As I said… Tim always was the brainy one.

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We've been waiting almost an hour for something to happen; Robin and Nightwing sitting in the dark and just waiting. Oracle had given us information about a possible gun smuggling ring; and when Oracle gives you a 'possible', that's better than most peoples 'definite'.

It's paid off.

As Tim gets closer into position I sit and watch. His approach to things is a lot like Bruce's. Mine was too but I grew out of it. So will Tim. He's started too, but I can see he has a way to go. Then again, if you are going to emulate someone…

Six vehicles approach from the south, two dark vans, three sedans – lighter than the vans – and one bright red sports car. One van is in front while the other takes up the rear of the line. The sports car is just in front of the rear van and the three sedans have taken up a 'V' formation just behind the front van. They have slowed down and are at a crawl coming north. They are about 2 piers away.

"I've got company." I hear Tim's voice through the receiver in my mask.

"The party is about to be crashed. Six vehicles northbound." I inch towards the edge of the building and spot Tim sitting in a between a group of crates. 

He's surrounded by what looks to be about 10 to 13 men and I'm sure all are armed to the teeth. I mean, when you deal with gunrunners it's a good chance they aren't carrying knives.

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Never bring a gun to a knife fight.

I hope one day that stops.

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CHAPTER TWO

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Robin is in the center of the action that is going on down below. The vehicles are pulling to a stop at the pier. About twenty feet away from where the men surrounding Robin inside the crates are. Tim hasn't been spotted and since the same guy trained me, I know he will not be.

The last van stops about a quarter of a mile away with its lights off. Apparently they are to watch the deal go down and be 'backup' if all hell breaks loose. 

Which happens quite often in Gotham.

The first van has pulled the closest to the men standing around the crate with its loading door right next to the crates. The two sedans that were in the lead stop shy of the men by about 25 feet and form a "V" like a roadblock. Both cars facing each other, obviously they are not the 'getaway' vehicles. The sedan that was behind them slowly pulls to a halt at the beginning of the pier, again more backup. And the sports car pulls right up to the "V" formed by the sedans. 

I can just make out Tim making adjustments of some sort from this far away I can't tell for sure. I try the line to him, but it's dead. He's always thinking so I guess he can't afford to speak right now and doesn't need the distraction.

I'll need to get some of the info myself. The closest vehicle to me is the last van; I'll take them first. Besides these kind of deals are never the kind of thing that go down right away.

This sneaking is less like me and more like Bruce. But it does have its good points. I mean my acrobatics isn't exactly going to endear me with the crowd, not like it used to when I didn't know any better.

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Keep on your toes.

Will do.

Within 23 seconds I'm close enough to smell the smoke of the occupants of the vehicle. Down here the people ahead are just tiny spots on the horizon. They are going to have to communicate by radios, and maybe their headlights. 

I crawl under the vehicle from behind and slide forwards till I'm at the front of the van. I flip on the nightvision on my mask and can make out the engine. The whole world is now a greenish tint; it takes some getting used to when you first try them on. But nowadays it feels natural at times like this. Take the clippers out of my boot and use it to cut loose the ignition wire and I am on my way to the party.

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Never underestimate them.

I haven't; I'm sure of it. If I had killed all the power to the car they would know something was up as soon as they tried to listen to some music or something. But maybe… okay… 'Don't underestimate'… for good measure I clip the wires to the headlights also.

Where the hell is that voice to tell me good job? It's in **my** head and I **still** can't make him say it.

Now I'm on my way to the party. I hope Tim is doing as well as I expect he is.

I arrive at the sedan parked just at the beginning of Pier 12 about 3 minutes after I started coming down from the rooftop. There are two figures moving inside the car. The windows are tinted, but I can just make them out; the windows are cracked to let smoke out. One is in the back seat and the other is the smoker, he's the wheelman. The back seat is the one to worry about. The driver need to drive up in case he's needed, the guy in the back seat is the dangerous one; possibly a sniper.

Glancing down the pier I can see the figures gathered around the boxes. They haven't started loading the van yet, so there is still some time. I hope Tim is okay. They are about a good hundred yards away, I'm sure that shot would be nothing for this guy. Unlike the others, I can't just immobilize these guys. I'll have to take them out. 

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Timing and Intelligence. 

Understood.

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Speed and Stealth.

I got it.

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Fear is not an option; it's a tool. Use it.

I am really getting sick of this.

I need to scare these guys. There are too many of them, and only Tim and myself are here to stop them. They would only need to see the shadow of the Bat to accomplish this. Unfortunately Bruce is out of commission for a bit. Then again, no one knows that. Only the 'family' is aware.

I toss three knockout pellets that I took from a compartment in my left boot and try to get them into the car. Two make it; one bounces off the window harmlessly but starts to smoke within seconds. One is enough to knock them out in such an enclosed space, but I wanted to make sure they were out, since I will need to move and fast. I didn't count on missing with one of them, now it will surely attract attent--

"What the fuck?!" A booming voice calls out from the direction of the docks.

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When plans fail… improvise.

Oh damn.

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Use it.

Easy for you to say, everyone fears the Bat.

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USE IT!

I have an idea.

I just hope it works.

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CHAPTER THREE

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Picture this moment for a second if you will. I count 27 men in varying sizes of numerous creeds and colors, yet they have two things in common at this moment. 

The first is that they are all packing heat; every last one of them is carrying an iron on their hip, ankle, waist, side or just have it in plain old sight. Some more than likely have more than one gun.

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Never bring a gun to a knife fight.

The second thing these men now have in common is fear.

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Fear is a tool.

They now stand wondering what happened to their other men at this point. The only thing they see is their sedan with smoke pouring out of it and beside it and a lone man strolling up towards them.

Me.

Criminals prey on the weak; they use fear as a tool. Whether it is the fear of getting hurt or the fear of it happening again, once someone has experienced this 'tool' of theirs, that person is changed forever. 

They changed Bruce years ago.

They changed me years later.

The difference is we now own that tool and I'm here to pay them back in spades.

"T-Dawg?" A man dressed in red yells over his shoulder to someone I can't see as of yet.

I'm still far away, about half a football field, and walking. I can just barely hear the yell from this distance. I'm beginning to think I'm nuts for trying such a dumb act.

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Never second-guess yourself.

There's electricity in the air and power in my steps. I'd call them 'strides' rather than steps, displays it better. But here I am – as far as they know – alone and half off my rocker. I just might be inclined to agree at this point at least with the latter part. I don't slow down though; I keep up the pace and notice the pain that my leg had is gone. The adrenaline has obviously kicked in.

As I'm coming up some of them start to move. One heads over to the drivers side of the van, while five others take their place behind him in step. But then they break off and head towards the loading door on the van and start loading the van as quickly as they can. They are only interested in the merchandise and aren't the real threat.

The one that yelled for his buddy 'T-Dawg', is now standing with a gentleman that looks like he could fit into any NFL starting offensive line and not let them down. The guy is large and makes me feel inadequate in the muscle department, that's not an easy accomplishment. He has the definition to prove he's been working out, along with the track marks to show how he got that way. 

He must be--

"T-Dawg, you know 'im?" The mouthy one asks while fingering a pump-action with his left hand.

"Does he look like a friend of mine?" T-Dawg uses a sidelong glance on him.

"I'll take that as a compliment." With that I spring into action.

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I've been at this for a good three minutes and am obviously winning. But there's one thing that worries me…

No sign of Tim. 

The guys have loaded the van and the driver is starting the vehicle. Tim has to be in one of the boxes, he wouldn't leave me here to fend for myself.

Not under these odds.

_Odds are for losers._

I can't bring myself to stop thinking about Tim and it's causing me to be less effective than I would be normally. I'm getting overwhelmed, but I have to stay close to them all. If I take the fight away from them, their guns will win in this 'knife' fight. In close they aren't very effective.

The fear is gone and replaced by panic. They are trying to scatter like roaches when the lights come on. I can hear the distant sirens of Gotham's finest and so can they. There are 11 of them unconscious or shot by their partners lying on the pier bleeding and whimpering like children.

T-Dawg got away and so did the van. There were simply too many of them for me to--

_Excuses._

I know.

_You need to be better next time._

If there is a next time.

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CHAPTER FOUR

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"We haven't got a God damned thing to hold these guys on!"

"Harvey! If I hear you taking his name in vain again tonight I'm going to make you sorry!" Detective Montoya declares at her partner admonishing him with a glare.

"I was just--" Harvey starts to be cut short by Montoya.

"I know Harv." She says a little coldly.

Hard to believe this is the same woman I was out with last night. She looks different and her whole mannerisms have changed. Look who's talking, I know. But she seemed a lot different last night, then again so was I.

"Give it to me one last time." Harvey says looking at me while chewing on the end of a well-chewed pen and holding his pad. The one that has everything I have had to say for the past fifteen minutes.

"I've told you what I have to say."

"Where's the Freak? You know. Yer boss. The Bat?" He puts his pen to the paper as if he's going to get a different answer this time.

"He's **NOT** my boss." Instead he gets the same one.

"Harv, we've been through this enough already why don--" Renee starts to be cut off by a detective working the scene.

"You two… I mean three may want to take a look at something." According to his nametag his name is Bock. He's a black man about the same height as Bruce. He's graying around the temples and has a goatee. He's pointing over his shoulder towards the crates that were left when the men took off in a hurry. 

The crates where Tim was.

"What is it?" Bullock asks as I brush past him.

"That's a crime scene!" Bullock shouts at my back.

"Then try and arrest me." It comes out cold and hard and hopefully as low as I meant to say it.

News reporters are now flashing pictures from the police lines at the beginning of the dock trying to get a clean shot of me. I try and keep my face turned just enough to stay out of the pictures. I **work** with detectives; I don't need anyone putting this together.

I get close to the area where Bock was thumbing us towards. I'm standing in the middle of the boxes that are left and searching but I find nothing. Montoya, Bock and Bullock come walking up as if I am the only one that is clueless.

I'm looking everywhere I can think of, the boxes, and the boards that make up the deck of the pier. Switch my sights to the nightvision again and scan the floorboards. I can just make out something stuck in the cracks of the boards.

"What is it?" Bock questions me.

I hold up a finger to keep them silent while I reach in my left glove for a nightarang to use it to dig out what I suspect is--

"Well?" Bullock asks in his bull in a china shop way.

Damn.

"It's Robin's." I grasp the transceiver tight in my left fist and start to walk away.

"Isn't that evidence?" Bock asks trying not to push my buttons.

"Damn right it is. Lissen up freak! You tell your boss that if he--" 

I would have let Bullock continue but he reached for my hand. I let him grab hold and spin him up against the crate next to us. I push lightly up adding pressure to the pain at having his arm behind his back.

"He… Is… Not… My… Boss." I practically spell it out for him. "Now if you want this," I hold up my left fist in front of his face then open my hand. "Send **your** boss to get it."

"Nightwing--" Montoya starts.

"I gave my statement. That's more than **he** does for you." With that I head towards my apartment which is on the other side of town, but I can use the run.

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I entered my apartment through a roof access. This is an old place; I keep it now for my stays in Gotham. No matter what this place seems to drag me back in. Just like Pacino in Godfather. 

I just finished taking a shower and have some of my 'normal' clothes on. Take out a burrito out of the freezer and put it in the microwave. Switch on the tube and there's me and Gotham's finest.

They even have me pushing around Harvey on tape.

I can't believe Tim would leave me like that; he wouldn't have. But at the same time he couldn't have been dragged away. He took this off early; he never had it on. I was never able to communicate with him. He had to have a reason.

Tim always was the brainy one.

He **HAD** to have a reason. But what reason would be good enough?

There wasn't a message before I went into the shower but sure enough the light is blinking. Thinking it may be from Tim I didn't even wait for my burrito to finish heating. 

It wasn't.

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"Babs?"

"Hey you." I could swear I hear her perk up a bit at my voice, but I'm not sure.

"It's three thirty in the morning and you leave a message? Are you all right?" The second I said it I felt dumb for having asked. Sometimes it's easy to forget who she is and think of her as Babs.

"I should ask you that." She tells me and I can hear she knows.

"I've got television and some frozen burritos, what more does a growing boy…" I trail off having said the word boy.

"I'm sure he's fine. Tim can handle this."

"Babs, can I come o--"

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Timing is everything.

I hate call waiting.

"Hold on a sec." Thinking it may be Tim I switch lines.

"Hello? Tim?"

"Dick?" A voice I'll never forget comes through the line.

"Pooh?"

"Dick, I need your help." The five words I told her she'd only have to say to me and I'd--

"I'm on my way." I sigh and grab my gym bag and toss in the Nightwing outfit.

"I heard you became a cop here and I'm at your apartment now. Clancy let me in."

She's in Bludhaven.

"I'm on my way."

I hang up and the phone rings. It's Babs still holding on the other line.

Hefting my bag on my shoulder, I lock the front door on my way out.

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CHAPTER FIVE

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I only hope **he** understands.

After high school I never expected to see 'Pooh' again. Turns out she stayed in Gotham and went to Gotham University. And even though we stayed away from each other, I was always aware she was there.

Before tonight the last words I had said to her was that I would be there when she needed me. All she needed to do was ask.

Pooh was my first serious girlfriend that had nothing to do with the 'hero' side of me. She loved Richard, which in part was the problem. I'm more than that and it always seemed to come between us. Essentially I chose being myself over being with her. I know that was the right choice, even if it was tough to admit then.

The wind is in my hair and reminds me of the many times her fingers caressed the same area. The engine of the Racing Boat is audible, even over the loudest setting on the stereo – which isn't surprising since I have it redlining – according to the disk jockey some band named 'Creed' is playing a song called 'One'. I pay it little mind since I have other things to hold my attention. 

I can only hope he understands. 

I 'borrowed' it from Bruce's collection. I also walked out on Tim when he may very well need me and walked out on Babs when I needed her. I'm doing all the wrong things but for all the right reasons. 

It's not too different from being Nightwing. Being a 'hero' is more than just a costume, if it wasn't than any one of the people that dress up like Batman at conventions could do it. Fact is it takes a special personality to become one. The suit is just one of the perks.

Taking the boat is the quickest and shortest distance between Gotham and Bludhaven, and time is short. I could have taken the Batwing, but I figured taking one Bruce's things over one of Batman's seemed like the 'right thing' to do at the time. I know stealing is stealing, but at times one evil is worse than the other is.

_Never let feelings guide you._

Easy for you to say. 

You've never been in love.

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It's five in the morning as I get into the harbor. 

In an hour and a half I have committed breaking and entering, grand larceny and worst of all the betrayal of not one but three good friends. I even miss the train that would have got me close to my apartment.

I'm not having a good day.

I stop to call a cab in a coffee shop. There are a few cops there and I hide my face and try to blend in. I don't need anyone to know I'm in town yet. I managed to get a leave of absence from work, thanks to Bruce. He even got it extended so I could take watch over his city while Alfred forced him to ride the bedsprings for a couple weeks. 

After calling the cab I decide to try the apartment, let Pooh know that I am about another twenty-five minutes away. 

Three rings. She must be sleeping; she did get to my apartment kind of late as it was. I go to hang up on the fifth ring.

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Fifth?

Something's wrong.

Shit.

I drop the phone and run out of the coffee shop. 

I have an answering machine that works on toll saver. It picks up on the second ring if there are messages and if not it picks up on the fourth.

_Others rationalize._

The cruiser is parked outside and running.

_You act._

I'm in the cruiser before I have time to doubt myself and am headed to Pooh.

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I can hear on the police band others are trying to figure out where I'm headed. They have a roadblock set up now about ten blocks ahead of me.

That's 3 blocks short.

Slam on the cruiser's brakes, I leap from the vehicle and I'm in an Olympic style sprint up the stairs to my apartment building. I left the vehicle's door open and the engine still running. I can hear the sirens closing in around me as I get up the stairs.

Floor Two.

I hear a kid crying, there is a guy delivering newspapers to each apartment and the smell of bacon and eggs is strong.

Floor three.

I charge towards my apartment and don't even try the knob, or my key. I kick the door in with one hard kick with my right leg, the doorjamb gives a bit and the door flies backwards and crashes into the wall causing it to bounce back on me. I hit it with my shoulder as I come through the doorway.

I am glad to see nothings disturbed as I run down the few steps that lead into the living room. I can hear the television on in my bedroom.

_Something isn't right._

If the television is on… then the apartment has power. The answering machine should have picked up.

I run into the bedroom and see a light coming from underneath my bathroom door to my right.

"Pooh?" My voice cracks a bit.

I can smell it even before I open the door.

Pooh.

Dead.

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	2. Part Two of Six: A Downward Spiral

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BLUDMONEY

By

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Scott D. Halfacre

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Legal crap: Have no cash, earning none, don't own characters… leave me alone.

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CHAPTER SIX

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I've been in this room before, although never this side of the table.

"So you stole a cruiser?" Detective Conroy asked for the umpteenth time.

I only sigh in response as I stare at my hands.

Her blood.

Pooh counted on me many times before, but never for anything like this. She counted on me and now she's dead. She's the second woman to die in as many weeks that counted on me.

Doe killed the other about a week and a few days ago. Her I had no feelings for and it felt like watching your own child die.

Now multiply that by some number that some scientist is working on cause it doesn't exist yet and you **MIGHT** begin to understand how I feel at this moment.

"I'll ask again… so you then stole the cruiser?"

I look up at Conroy and he doesn't look as dumb as he sounds to me right now. The guy is in his early forties his curly blond hair is thinning heavily and has formed a widow's peak. His face carries the lines of a man that has seen a lot in his time.

"How can I steal something that no one owns?" The smart-ass answer comes out before I knew it.

_There you go letting your feelings control your mouth again._

"The damn city owns" Conroy starts while leaning down on the table with his knuckles.

"And I work for it!" I slam my left fist down on the table once again before I can control it.

_~One~_

~The only way is one~

~I feel angry I feel helpless~

~Want to change the world~

~I feel violent I feel alone~

~Don't try and change my mind~

~I feel angry I feel helpless~

~Want to change the world~

~I feel violent I feel alone~

~Don't try and change my mind~

The words to that song that I was paying little attention to in the boat seemed to have sunk in. It's funny how a song can grow to mean something to you as you grow as a person. I may never be able to hear that song again without thinking of tonight.

"Grayson, we aren't trying to bust you for it. I would have done the same--" Detective Greene says kindly only to be cut off by Conroy.

"He's a friggen Rookie! We can't have **them** running the show." I take it back. He doesn't sound dumb. He is dumb.

"Let me ask you detective, did **you **notice anything about the body?" I stand up and lean forward like he is, so we are nose to nose now.

"You mean aside from you being found holding the victim, with her blood all over you?" Conroy asks with a smirk that makes me want to wipe it off for him.

"How about you Greene?" I ask without looking away from Conroy's eyes.

"There was too much blood for you to have done it after you stole the cruiser."

"Yeah, but he isn't even supposed to be **in **Bludhaven! How do we know he didn't--" Conroy's eyes look down on me somehow. Which should be impossible; I'm a good five inches taller than he is.

"This wasn't a crime of passion. Get the damn photos and I'll show you." With that I sit back down in the chair satisfied that I've made my point.

They both stare at each other for a good ten seconds not saying anything. Then they both go to walk out of the interrogation room without saying a word to me.

"Oh one more thing Conroy. This **isn't** a 'show'. It's called being a detective, you might want to look into it. Seeing as what you've been handed is a badge and not a doughnut."

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"We never suspected you for murder Grayson, but you will have to be reprimanded for your actions." Chief Redhorn tells me from behind his much too spacious for a cop desk.

"Have you notified her family sir?" I ignore his point; I'm only worried about her parents at this time.

"No, I thought you may have wanted to do it." Redhorn surprised me with that one and it must have shown. "It's a tough thing though. I can send someone el--"

"No sir." I manage to choke back my tears. "I need to do it."

Chief just smiles at me. He's holding something back.

"What?" 

"Grayson, you've surprised me many times before, but how did you come to that conclusion you shared with Greene and Conroy?" 

The murder was brutal, something right out of the movies. I've seen a lot of things in my time. I've seen the strange, the demented, the scary, the sick, the perverted, the unexplainable and everything else under the sun. Yet I have never seen one that took them all and rolled them into one murder, with care. That's the thing that makes this one stand out; aside from the obvious I mean.

"The killer wanted you guys to think it was a random thing. That this was an attack against the whole female race or something. That's what Conroy saw." My voice seems distant to myself. I'm in a trance and the whole scene is playing in my mind like a movie that I want to walk out on only to discover I have no body.

"Right. That's what everyone took it as." Chief Redhorn shared.

"Yeah. Well it wasn't an act of brutality." I slowly raise my eyes to meet his. He doesn't believe me. "This was an act of love."

His look shows what he's thinking. The same thing I have been since I found her. 

The sick bastard.

"What do you mean?" Chief leans forward in his chair and places his elbows on the desk and his hands beneath his chin like his head got to heavy for his neck all of the sudden.

I stand and walk over to the pictures on his wall. "Have you ever loved someone?"

I hear the creak of his chair and my eyes go to his reflection off the glass of one picture. The picture shows him as a rookie.

"Yes." He says after leaning back in his chair.

"So have I. This was an act of someone that cared for the victim." I look down at my shoes as I say it, I feel so bad that Pooh had to wait till it got to this point before she'd call on me.

"But how did--"

"Hesitation marks." I say not looking up from the dried blood on my shoes. "You can see where the killer hesitated with the blade. And it grew into something…" My voice trails off.

"What?" Redhorn prods me.

I turn to face him and step forward to his desk glaring in his eyes. "It grew into something viscous."

"The way I have it figured is Pooh called--" I start.

"Who?" Redhorn cuts me off after writing down some notes of what I have said.

"The victim. Johanna, I knew her as Pooh." The distance in my voice returns as I try and fight off the movie again.

"Miss Michaels?" Redhorn says jotting down further.

"Yeah, she called me while I was in Gotham. I figure she got in trouble with someone that cared for her and was running from him." I need to talk to Erin; she was Pooh's best friend.

"And she came to you?"

"It's in the statement." I say standing up. "Am I done here now?"

"You know we can't have you on the case." 

"Well, I'm not officially back for another week right?" I start to head out the door without waiting for an answer.

"Grayson, don't let me catch you near this case." He says at my back as I reach for the doorknob.

_Exhaust every lead you have._

I open the door.

"Don't worry about it. I'm going back to Gotham." I close the door behind me.

*********************************************************************

****

CHAPTER SEVEN

*********************************************************************

The bitter end.

I check my watch; I can't believe it's only been an hour since I left the station where Redhorn warned me off this case. I know that someone with a personal stake in a case should be removed. But Pooh called me for a reason and called me on my promise to her. My word. My bond. My oath. All that I am tells me that I am here till the bitter end.

I've been walking now for only a half-hour and I find myself at Pooh's parent's home. I've been standing here for a bit. I've kept tabs on her since we quit talking those many years ago. Her parents moved here to Bludhaven when she got a job here. Her parents were retired and wanted to be close to their only daughter. Now they will be alone here in Bludhaven.

I stopped at my apartment building took a shower and quickly grabbed different clothes at Clancy's. She was kind and said the police would be done with my apartment by tomorrow. They'd have it all clean by the time I got back from Gotham. That's when I told her the news. "I'm staying." I had said. She and I had a quick conversation and she understood from my eyes that I was serious.

Now here I am about to tell two people that have devoted their life to their only child that they will never see her again. It's almost noon and their world is about to be ripped from them. 

I can't do this.

_Yes._

I knock lightly.

_You can._

I can hear the television from inside; it's blasting some game show. I turn my back to the door. I've no clue what to say, or how to say it.

How do you tell someone that his or her life has lost all meaning and you now need to find a new one?

"Can I help you?" A female voice says from behind me.

I turn to see the door cracked a bit with a small gold chain keeping it locked. I can tell from her eyes that it's Mrs. Michaels; she has the same eyes her daughter has.

I smile at her; or at least I try to.

"Is that you… Oh gosh! It is you! Little Richie Grayson!" She's pulled the door as far as the chain would allow it. "How have you been?"

"I've seen better days."

"One second dear, let me get this chain--" The door closes and cuts off her voice but the meaning was clear.

"Johanna is going to be sore she missed you." She smiles and holds her arms out for a hug. "She's been talking about you for a week now, isn't that something!"

That is **something** all right.

__

When it rains it pours.

I have to lean down to hug her, either I have grown a lot since I have seen her parents or they are shrinking. "Is Mr. Michaels here also?" 

I would hate to have to do this more than once, or for that matter give this burden to Mrs. Michaels to carry.

"Richie." She smiles. "My husband passed on about a year and a half ago."

Just when you thought it was safe to put your feet firmly on the ground.

"I… I'm sorry." I can practically feel my face lose its color.

This woman now has no one. 

I know what this will feel like; it's a pain I don't wish on anyone.

"It's okay Richie." She reaches up and rubs my head. "You need a hair cut, your hair never used to be this long."

I start to cry.

"Richie?" Her eyes meet mine.

She knows, tell her.

"I have something to tell you…"

*********************************************************************

****

CHAPTER EIGHT

*********************************************************************

Pooh.

Bitter end.

Pooh's mother said she had mentioned me a week ago. Pooh wanted to find me at that time, but she never told her mom I was a cop in Bludhaven. She kept things from her mom. That much is apparent. 

This is all Chief wanted me to do, notify the family, but how can I walk away now?

I can't.

I won't.

Someone killed Pooh. Even though she was no longer in my life, my world was just a little brighter, knowing she was alive and well. I'm now in a downward spiral with a little less light.

The killer snuffed Pooh's 'light' from me.

He will pay for what he's done.

Dearly.

*********************************************************************

I got some info from Mrs. Michaels – can I still call her that? – And I've been following it up.

__

Every lead.

Pooh and Erin live with each other and work together, at least they did. Erin should have some info concerning Pooh. Erin and I never really saw what Pooh saw in the other. But that's what friendships are for I suppose. Baffle the hell out of everyone else within reaching distance.

Erin works at a building technically on Columbian soil. A diplomatic building erected on American soil, but Columbia owns it and therefore the soil around it. The five big guys that threw me out on my ass made sure I understood that. I came in wanting to see Erin and was asked for what purpose.

I mentioned Johanna Michaels and twenty seconds later I am being escorted out of the building in a very rude way. I was told I could be arrested and charged with trespassing if I was to return. 

The trick there is, don't get caught.

*********************************************************************

It's raining heavily and the streets below are congested with cars heading home after work. From up here on top of a building in Central Business District the rain hits me first, yet it feels just as dirty as had I collected it from the sewer. I'm wearing the same clothes I had on when I gave Pooh's Mom the bad news, which may have something to do with the 'sewage feeling'. I also have on my Nightwing mask.

I got online and managed to dig up the make and license plate number of her car. I marked the roof with a spray that will show up like neon with a slight adjustment to my lenses on my mask. She's just left the building and is headed Northwest to Highway 61.

I need to beat her there.

There is an elevated railroad that moves along the same direction, but it's a little further South from here. If I book it, I can just make the 5:15. Then it's nothing but a hop, skip and jump away from Highway 61 and her onramp. 

*********************************************************************

I'm standing on the side of the street flagging down her car. The mask is in my right front pants pocket and I'm soaked. With my wet hair hanging in my face and no sleep for the past thirty-odd hours I must look like crap.

It's no wonder she doesn't slow down. I step out in front of her car; she isn't moving too fast so I don't expect her to hit me. The car screeches to a halt on the slippery pavement. 

Fifteen feet shy of where I expected.

Thanks to training for years, and a little luck, I manage to get away with only a cut above my right eye. I struck the pavement hard and I guess I didn't manage to clear the car as I thought I'd be able to. I leapt but the car tripped my foot mid-air and I landed awkwardly.

Cars have come to a stop around us. Everyone is interested in watching the show.

She comes out of the car arms flailing like she was on fire, screaming at me, calling me words that even Marines would dare say. A bald Spanish guy in his late teens finds this real funny and isn't afraid to show it.

Spanish?

Make that Columbian. I recognize him from the building; he's one of the five. I doubt she even knows she's being followed.

"Erin." I manage to grunt out while getting up. My left ankle feels like it may be sprained.

She steps back and starts to move to her car without looking back. I think hearing her name made her realize something.

__

Fear.

"Wait! It's me!" I run after her. "Grayson!" I scream as she slams the door and puts the vehicle in drive. 

It goes nowhere; her foot is still on the brake. I can see her head lower to the steering wheel. But she makes no further movement. I walk around to the passenger side and get in.

"You shouldn't be here." Erin says not looking up at me.

I can feel blood running down my forehead. 

"If they find out you're here…" Her voice trails into silence.

The cars behind us start honking. Glance behind us and I can see the Columbian version of Gallager is on a cell phone.

"Excuse me a sec." I step out of the car with a wicked grin.

As I get out I can see baldie is already second-guessing himself.

I step around to his side of the car as he reaches up and locks his door. There's something in his eyes.

__

Fear.

I'm losing it.

I don't even remember what comes from my mouth. The window shatters beneath the heel of my left foot from the power of a sidekick. I catch the guy with a right hook with all my power behind it immediately following the kick. The guy is out for the count. I take his keys and throw them towards a grate and watch the rain take them into the sewer. Then make sure his cell follows it. 

__

Cops.

I can hear the sirens coming. I'll give the cops here in Bludhaven one thing over Gotham. They have a quicker response time, probably due to the fact that they are never truly 'on the job'. They are always 'on the make' here in Bludhaven.

Turning I still see Erin with her head down and the brake lights are on. The rain is coming down harder than I can remember it ever fall before. I can't see fifteen feet in front of me, but I can hear them.

I need to get out of here.

I climb back into Erin's car.

__

Drive.

Erin and I have some things to discuss.

"Drive."

*********************************************************************

****

CHAPTER NINE

*********************************************************************

Silence.

She's been staring at the **same** cup of coffee for the past thirty minutes, not saying a word. No crying, sniffling, sneezing, coughing, aching or any other thing Nyquil says it can cure. **Nothing**. Erin is just staring at her cup of Joe.

"Hey!" I snap my fingers in between her face and the cup.

"What?" Her voice is so lost; I'm amazed she found what little bit she did.

"I tell you your **best** friend is murdered and **this** is the reaction I get?" I sit back, satisfied that maybe now that I have tried for the third time to get her to speak; perhaps she'll do so.

"How am I supposed to act?" Erin still doesn't look away from the mug.

"Say **something** for Pete's sake, people will think I kidnapped you." I need her to open up.

"Didn't you?" She looks up at me.

Bingo!

I hardly ever leave myself open for an attack, if I can help it, but this time I did it on purpose. "Erin, I tried to see you today. I got tossed out on my ass."

"And?" She looks at me like she ordered it to be done.

"And?! I ask for you, mention Johanna and then get tossed out on my rear and **you** think--"

"Look at yourself Dick. Even when I knew you, you never looked this bad. What are you undercover? It's no wonder they threw you out." She may have a point.

"Erin." I smile at her; it doesn't feel up to its usual wattage. "They told you didn't they?"

"They?" She looks back down at her coffee.

"Dammit!" I slap my hand on the table and the waitress looks our way. I shake my head at her and then look out the window; the one with the words 'Heavenly Haven'. The rain hasn't let up at all.

"Who did it?" I ask her, not even paying attention to her reflection off of the glass.

"I don't know." Her voice cracks a bit.

I make it a point to blow out all of my air in the noisiest way possible. It doesn't make me feel better, but maybe it will show how angry I am.

"You are so childish," Then again there's always **that** angle. "I have no clue what Pooh ever saw in you."

"**Don't**, call her that." That was a name I had given her, or rather she gave to me to call her. It's the **only** thing I have left.

"Sorry." Erin returns to the lost voice again, instead this time she's staring at me instead of the cup. 

I glance back out the window. 

Pooh.

"I'm taking the killer down, with or without your help." I stare as hard as I can at her. Let her feel my raw emotions. Let her see the hate in my eyes.

"I don't want to end up like Johanna."

I find it hard to believe anyone could do what he or she did to Pooh again. I find it hard to believe someone did Pooh that way. It was graphic, violent work that was enjoyed.

"I can't make any more promises." I seem to be breaking promises left and right.

"Your vocabulary has expanded." Her lips try a smile.

"What?" I'm annoyed and she isn't helping by smiling like that.

"Your vocabulary," Erin starts looking back down at her cup while stirring the coffee absentmindedly with a spoon. "Since when does the **great **Dick Grayson say 'can't'?"

"I never claimed to be 'great' Erin." It comes from my lips like a sigh. Is this how she sees me, some self-centered--

"Not **you**." She's still stirring the coffee.

For once my smile feels real. "Pooh?"

"Yeah." She said dropping the spoon on the table causing splatters of coffee on the tabletop.

Yes the smile is genuine. Pooh may have had a point at one time. 'Can't' wasn't a word I would have said before. But everyone I seem to be making promises to these days seems to wind up dead, or at the very least hurt.

"I'll do what I can for you." I lean forward and cross my arms on the table.

"**Dick**… what can you do?" She makes my name sound like a curse word, and doesn't wait for an answer. "Nothing."

She finally starts to drink her coffee. "Ugh, this is cold. I hate cold coffee."

The coffee has sat there, untouched for about forty-five minutes; Of course it's cold.

"I'm a cop--" I start.

"**In** Bludhaven." She stares into my eyes.

Bludhaven is the most corrupt town I've seen. It makes Gotham look like a candy store.

No matter what I think of her, she has a point.

*********************************************************************


	3. Part Three of Six: A Shattered Silence

****

BLUDMONEY

By

__

Scott D. Halfacre

Legal crap: have nada, own nada… leave me alone.

PS: If you don't know this stuff by now, why read this?

********************************************************************

****

CHAPTER TEN

********************************************************************

I bought Erin lunch at the "Heavenly Haven." Don't know where it got its name; the food's greasy and the service blows. But at least during the two hours we were together, I was able to drag some information out of her.

According to Erin, Pooh was dating a guy she had kept a secret, even from her. Erin also seemed afraid of ending up like Pooh and also of her job. She didn't tell me that in words; she didn't have to.

__

There's fear in her eyes.

She was afraid at having been seen with me. The Columbian Gallager saw us together. Now I have the extra duty of trying to watch her back along with my own. Great. 

I had her drop me off at my apartment building. The cops are done with the place; it's clean and tidy. I can smell the antiseptic from out in the hallway. But I **know** what happened here. Not the specifics, but I still know.

I clean myself up a little and tend to the cut above my right eye. I start checking out everything I can on the computer about Pooh's work and her background. I really don't find much; I need to hack into the police records. And since I'm not much of a hacker--

I have my Nightwing outfit on in a matter of seconds and am on my way.

B.P.D.

Bludhaven Police Department.

********************************************************************

According to the clock on the wall of Captain Addad's office, it was a quarter till nine when I got in his office. I've been at this for an hour and a half and have finally pulled up something interesting.

__

Pregnant.

Pooh was two month's pregnant. 

They have other things down here also. Mostly stuff I already knew before the autopsy. The hesitation marks, which means – more than likely – it was someone that knew her. Her time of death was around four am; making me just a little too slow to have saved her. That seems to be the case more and more these days.

But the pregnancy thing I didn't know. How could I? 

They've already put the case in a "holding pattern," waiting for more information. I don't need more; I have enough as it is. 

But before I go I need a couple small items.

********************************************************************

I'm sitting on the roof of the building I was at before, the one across from the place where Erin works. Most of the lights are out, and aside from the few people that decided to stay and work late, the place is empty. I have my penlight and I'm going over the documents that it took me an hour to dig up.

It's now midnight, and the next day is just beginning, I absently rub my chin and realize I haven't shaved recently; the gruff of my beard is evident. I also haven't slept in the past thirty-odd hours, yet I'm not tired in the least. 

One of the documents I "borrowed," are the autopsy results. Another that I have is the police report about Pooh. Her life basically, and its all right here in a thin manila envelope, marked "Michaels, Johanna P."

Pooh deserved better than this. 

The pictures of the autopsy and the crime scene are not as bad as what I see every time I close my eyes, which doesn't mean that the pictures aren't gruesome. According to the pictures the scene was made to look like an act of random violence, malicious and ill prepared. Designed to look like it was an act in the moment, which it wasn't. Any detective worth his salt can tell that. The only thing I couldn't have known was that she was pregnant. 

But just cause** I **had no clue, I doubt Erin had no inklings. I doubt she's been lying to me, but I get the feeling she hasn't told me everything either. I stand and tuck the papers and light into an empty compartment in my left boot.

She's afraid of something from her work. She was being followed earlier today by one of the goons that tossed me out when I was dressed as Dick.

__

It's time.

Let's see them try it now.

********************************************************************

Lavender.

It's faint but the power of it overwhelms my senses. The memories of time spent with her, the parades, the parties, the vacations, and the time alone. 

Pooh.

This is her office. Even if her name weren't on the door, I'd still be able to tell by the décor and the smell. She has turned her office into a home away from home. Nothing looks like it was disturbed. Pictures adorn one wall, directly across from the windows. Family and friends smiling and Pooh looking as pretty as ever.

And a picture of us.

__

Emotions.

It's the last picture we ever took together, one of those old time photograph places they have at fairs. She was dressed as O'Hara and I as Butler. She still had that amazing smile in the other photos as she does this one.

__

Emotions cloud judgment.

I pull it off the wall and walk toward the window to get a better look.

The memory of that day was all but forgotten. It's the day we decided to call it quits, three days before graduation. This moment was captured probably only an hour before we broke up.

Funny how the smallest of time seems insignificant till after the fact. 

Had I been a little quicker she'd be alive. 

Had I been in Bludhaven she'd be alive.

__

Work to do.

Isn't there always?

__

Sounds.

There's always work that needs to be done. The more you do, the more there is; It's a never-ending cycle. One hour changed my life before and again. One hour changed her life, and stopped it.

Pay attention Dick, you're here to work.

I didn't realize I was crying. But the tear that just hit the glass on the photo I'm looking at tells me I am. Either that or God has figured how to make it rain inside, even though he couldn't save my parents, Babs and now Pooh. 

She's only the latest person in my life to get hurt. There will be more. There will be others. And there's nothing I can do. Why do--

__

Dick!

The door flies open with the force of a charging rhino.

I turn my head slowly towards the sound. The door is off the hinges and lying on the floor, beneath two massive boots. Which are attached to a very large man. Behind him are at least two others, one I recognize from my earlier excursion here.

Only this time…

They're armed.

********************************************************************

****

CHAPTER ELEVEN

********************************************************************

There are times when one's fear takes control of their body. 

You aren't as fast as you want to be. Sometimes even to the point of being frozen like a deer trapped in the headlights of an oncoming pickup. You aren't able to move, act, or even speak.

Yes, there are times like that.

This isn't one of them.

_Emotions cloud judgment._

I don't even notice my jaw is clenched so tight till one of those massive boots caves in my stomach. Air is forced out of my lungs, but no noise escapes.

"Mátele!" I hear the big guy say as he pulls back his boot from the cavity that was my stomach.

As he steps back I can see the other two enter the room and the one closest raises his gun. Even if I didn't know some Spanish, it was obvious what the word meant. "Kill him!"

I kick the fallen door just as the two step on it, causing them to lose their balance, even if only for a moment. A moment is all I need.

In the enclosed space of this office I'm not as effective as I could be.

_Excuses._

I seem to be full of them these days.

I throw my feet in the air and catch the gunman in the chest with my right boot as I flip to my feet. Right hand shoots out to grab the gun as it falls from his hand. It lands neatly in my grasp. I've been trained to use one similar to this.

__

Not by me.

He's right, not at a time like this.

"Mierda!" The now gun-less gunman shouts as he falls backwards. I didn't kick him hard enough to cause him to fall backwards like he did. I wonder why he--

The sights, I have them set on him; He's falling back in fear. I throw the gun and take out the light in the ceiling they turned on upon entering and flick on my nightvision. 

I now have an advantage.

The muzzle flashes brightly in the room as the other gunman fires blindly where I was. The automatic he has, got eight shots off before I could get close to him. I strike him from behind with an Escrima Stick I pulled with my right hand. He collapses a little slower than he should have; I tried to nail a nerve cluster in his back. I must have been off a bit; I feel a bit off.

_Move._

Without thinking I bring up the stick and block an unseen blow. The power of it throws me sideways into a wall. With power like that it has to be the rhino that knocked down the door.

Spinning to face him I can taste the copper of blood in my mouth from his earlier kick; it causes me to smile.

"You're on private property Gringo." Rhino says to me.

I wipe at the corner of my mouth with my left hand and end up striking myself in the lip with something, which amuses the hell out of Rhino.

He's laughing as he comes closer, I look at my left hand. I still have the framed picture gripped tightly. I can't believe I never let it go. 

Rhino lunges at me with a grapple. I throw my Escrima Stick down at the ground between his feet causing it to bounce back up and nail him in a nerve cluster; one every boy learns about on his own. Even the Bat never had to teach me about that one.

"Private property?" I grin as I plant my left heel against his right temple, in a sweeping kick with enough force to knock him out. 

Sometimes "Old School" is still the most effective.

********************************************************************

I don't have much time, I figure two minutes tops before the cavalry arrives. 

I pick up my stick from the ground and walk over to the pictures again. With my nightvision on I can make out what looks like where a picture hung.

The dust on that spot makes up my mind for me. It had been there a while, and now it just mysteriously is gone? It's not the one I have in my hand; it's bigger. I glance at the others one last time. Nothing makes sense; nothing jumps out at me. There's nothing here.

_Yet._

Right. Nothing here… **yet**. 

_Phone._

This is one of those times when the pure genius of it all makes me smile.

I can hear what sounds like chains coming down the hallway, the cavalry.

I grab a picture of a company picnic off the wall and walk over toward Pooh's desk. I rip the shirt off Rhino and create a makeshift bag out of the material. In it I drop the two pictures and her Rolodex too. Rip the phone out of the wall and break the window to the office with it. The sirens reach me through the air coming in from the window. 

A shot rings out and strikes the windowsill.

"Freeze!" I can hear from behind me, but I didn't listen.

"I thought you were supposed to shout that before you started shooting!" I shout over my shoulder. Out the window in one quick leap and fire a swing line off my left arm.

I'll have to figure this all out later.

********************************************************************

_Sleep isn't your enemy._

Oh yeah, I'm going to take that from you! It took Doe and a building to collapse on you to take you out of commission for just a small rest. Since when do **you** take breaks when there's work to be done?!

I wonder if the silence means I made a point?

I enter my apartment building and head straight for a shower, dropping the "bag" on the kitchen table. I don't turn on any lights as I'm here. Just in case Redhorn has some people watching the place, I don't need him to know I'm back.

The water is cascading down my back as I lean against the wall. It's hot enough to scald a child. It didn't take any time at all to fill the room with steam. I don't have enough room for a hot tub, so this has to do. The pain in my stomach is still there and my leg is still sore.

I feel drained and my mind wanders as I daydream. Just about how things should have been, how they are and what I've been doing to stop them. I've been awake now for a good 48 hours and I can feel the weight pulling down on me, slowing me down.

_When plans fail… improvise._

Well, at least I know I didn't chase it away.

_Mail._

I never thought about that. I've been here for over a day and never checked my mail. I'm out of the shower and racing down the stairs in a robe. I get there and realize I left my keys upstairs, run back up this time, to see that in my previous haste I left my door open and the water running. On the way back down I close the door. If Pooh had been trying to reach me she may have left something in my mail.

Empty.

"Dammit!" I punch the door to my mailbox closed, leaving a small dent.

I head back to my shower and possibly to get some sleep. I get back upstairs and drop the keys back on the table, go into the kitchen and get out one of the frozen burritos I seem to always have plenty of. I start the microwave oven and head back to my shower.

As I enter the bathroom I can't help but see the message left for me.

"Hand it over, or your next." Is clearly visible in the mirror now thanks to the steam.

********************************************************************

****

CHAPTER TWELVE 

********************************************************************

Shattered.

I'm staring into the sink, hands trembling on either side, supporting my weight. The water is running in a clockwise motion, almost hypnotic the way the blood is mixing with the water. Causing a swirling effect on my eyes; might as well join the rest of me.

Spiraling downward and uncontrollable. Worst of all, I can feel it, but am powerless to stop it.

My breath is ragged and labored. I've been trying to control it for a period of time now, not sure how long. I glance up at the mirror and see a hundred eyes filled with pain staring back at me.

My eyes.

The mirror is now truly a mirror of my life, shattered and imperfect. No longer glossy and clean, it's stained by the blood of my hands, and shattered from the force of my anger.

Truly, this is a mirror of my life.

********************************************************************

I finished my shower and threw on a pair of cut off sweats. I went to the burrito, but it was cold by the time I finished in the bathroom, so I threw it out. I have some tape above my right eye, and the same white medical tape encompasses my hands. I can feel the tape stretch as I make a fist, which stings like the dickens.

I'm sitting on the futon in my living room, going over everything that's happened the past couple days. My mind is swirling like the water was. My brain, like the blood, trying to cling to something, only to be washed away by the water. 

It's still storming and it's almost light outside, glancing at the clock on my wall I can see it's almost seven in the morning. I still haven't been able to bring myself to sleep. I don't even remember what day it is specifically, not till I decide to go to my door and get my paper do I see it's Friday. 

Sit at the kitchen table and eat an apple while I read the news. There's mention of her funeral and the viewing, but none of foul play. My name is left out also… someone is pulling strings.

I need to go to this funeral.

_Our work is never done._

The makeshift bag from last night rests in the center of the table.

To hell with that! It might never be done but I'm going to that funeral.

********************************************************************

I found time to shave, although I left a forming goatee, and actually ironed out a black suit I have had for a few years. I'm standing in the corner of the church, far away from everything. I'm unsure of what to do, what to say.

What can I say?

Pooh's mother hasn't shown yet, but the place is filling quickly. I have on a pair of shades and have a non-photo blue pencil in my left hand, which is bandaged slightly less than my right. In the right I hold the picture I took from her office, I circle everyone that shows and make further notes on the photo next to the people I circle.

So much for my break, here I am taking notes.

_Exhaust every lead._

The viewing has just started but almost every person in this picture is circled. I'm not exactly undercover here, but hopefully I look different. I don't feel much different, but the added goatee, nice suit and being clean might cause people that saw me a day ago not to recognize me.

I have so many notes scribbled down that it's getting hard to make out the picture still. Three people haven't showed yet, I recognize one of them. 

Gallager.

********************************************************************

I waited for an hour after the ceremony was over.

Nobody.

None of the three showed up, but at least I have one I can lean on. He was part of the strong-arm team that "helped" me leave the building the first time, and also the one that was following Erin.

Erin.

She definitely knows more than she's saying. 

Also in the message on the mirror what could "It" mean? 

Who got Pooh pregnant?

And who signed their soul away when they killed her.

There seems to be one place where I can get some answers.

Time to shine some light on the situation.

********************************************************************

****

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

********************************************************************

Patience is a virtue.

I don't have the time.

__

You can never be too prepared.

I've done enough prepping. 

__

Never underestimate them.

As the old saying goes. "Screw me once, shame on me. Screw me twice--"

"There ya go, that'll be twenty-two fifty sir." 

The voice breaks me from my thoughts. "What?"

I look up from the floorboard of the cab, with my sunglasses still on, the cabby is in a darkly tinted world. It reminds me of my world; except mine is dark, it just appears light.

The cabby smiles at me. "I know you have had a bad day and all--"

He's wearing a Gotham Knights ballcap that hides what looks to be a full head of white hair. In fact the cab is filled with Gotham Knights memorabilia, a flag hangs in the window, a small bat from the mirror, the seats are covered in Knights towels, and he's even tuned into some radio station that talks all sports, all day. He's black and heavy set, reminds me of a cross between Lucius Fox and Morgan Freeman. 

"How would you know about--" I stopped myself shy of asking how he knew about my bad day. It hit me as he was grinning at the question. He picked me up outside the graveyard. It doesn't take Matlock to put that together.

I start to reach for my wallet. "Twenty-five?"

"Twenty-two fifty." He said giving me the same smile I assume he gave his grandkids.

"Hey, how much for the ball cap?" I smirk as I look in my wallet.

"What's that sir?" His smile is just as strong but his eyes have that questioning look.

"The ballcap? How much?" I hold up my wallet and give it a little shake.

"It's old, you wouldn't want this old thing." He pulls the hat off his head and looks at it; I was right about his hair.

"Sure I do." I hold out a hundred-dollar bill.

"Sir?!" He exclaims. "It isn't worth that."

"Tell ya what? I'll just borrow it for a bit, you wait at the corner for me. Pick me up and I'll give it back." I smile and hold out the bill.

"You're nuts." He holds out the cap.

"Awww, you shouldn't be so quick to judge… Jones." I said after searching the windshield for his license.

"J. B. Jones" it said.

I swipe up the hat from his hand and get out of the cab. Put the hat on and tuck my hair into it as much as I can.

"Jones?" I say leaning into the window with the bill in my left hand.

"Yes sir?" He says smiling and reaching for the money.

"Ten minutes." I let him take the bill and can see he's not really paying attention to my voice.

"Ten minutes." He says oddly.

"Ten. Then pull back up, and wait another five. If I take longer than that… a meeting took longer than I thought," I smile and stand up straight, "and I'll catch another cab."

"No problem! I'll wait right over there." He shouts to my back as I had turned to go in.

"Jones?" I say spinning on my right heel.

"Yes sir?"

"Stop with the "sir" shit. I've had a bad day." I smile thinly at him.

"Yes sir…" He smirks fully realizing he said it again.

I glance at my watch. I have till 2:30 till I must be out here to meet him. I spin back towards the building and sigh.

__

When plans fail… improvise.

"Jones?" I say still looking at the Columbian Embassy.

"Still here." I hear his deep rumble of a voice.

__

Never bring a gun to a knife fight.

I can feel my smile brighten.

"How much for the bat?"

************************************************


	4. Part Four of Six: A Walk in the Embassy

****

BLUDMONEY

By

__

Scott D. Halfacre

Legal crap: have nada, own nada… leave me alone.

PS: If you don't know this stuff by now, why read this?

*************************************************

****

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

*************************************************

I walk through the doors like I own the joint.

The receptionist is straight ahead of me - her brilliant smile on display from the moment I enter - and two security guards are near the elevator to my left. They glance my way for a second, then return to their idle chatter. 

Between the sunglasses, goatee, and the black suit, I hope I look different enough to cause people not to notice me. I have the small Gotham Knights bat tucked into the back of my waistband; it weighs about 3 pounds and is a little shorter than my forearm. It doesn't leave too much of a bulge right now, but if I get searched, they'll find it. 

"Buena Tardes," I say with my award-winning smile in place, "I'm here to see Johanna Michaels."

"She's not in, may I ask what this is in response to?" Her voice is pitched high enough to be a cartoon character, but with a thicker accent than Speedy Gonzalez.

The receptionist's eyes show nothing but pride as her left hand makes the slightest of movements. She sees my eyes follow her movements as she slightly changes it to pick up a pen. 

__

Fear is a tool.

"Her murder." Okay this might not be the best plan I've ever had, but something is bound to happen.

Her eyes widen just a bit. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave." She motions for the security guards.

I chance a glance their way for a second - good ten seconds unless they run - I stare back in her eyes. "Is her murderer in? I'd love to have a discussion with him."

I slowly turn my head away from the receptionist to size up my opponents; neither I've seen before. One is reaching for his billy club; he must be Slowpoke Gonzalez with his speed. The other, the ugly one with fewer teeth, has his out and is patting his left hand with it. 

"Problema?" His eyes are inquiring Speedy the receptionist. He's looking past me and his eyes are moving slightly to my right; she's trying to move out of the way.

"Don't worry miss," I say in my best attempt to sound dangerous, "I'll get back to you in a second."

"American?" The one with the club asked in what can only be described as broken English, even if it was only one word.

"What gave it away?" I grin at him and put my back against the receptionist desk while facing them. "It was my dental work wasn't it?"

"It's your arrogance!" Toothless tells me with a whistle forming at the end of his sentence.

"Arrogance is thinking you have a license to kill." I stand up straight and put my hands on the desktop behind me. "You're not James Bond are you?"

"You have no proof of anything." Toothless spilled some beans.

"Shut up." Slowpoke tells his comrade.

I point towards Slowpoke with a nod. "I'd listen to him," then look hard at Toothless, "and use less "S's" in your chatter with me, I forgot my raincoat."

They glance at each other trying to determine if I just insulted them.

"For your sake, I hope you guys are better with those sticks than you are at verbal sparring."

They definitely know now. Toothless makes the first move.

__

You can't think with your mouth running a mile a minute.

No. **You** can't. This is **my **show.

I plant my arms on the desk and kick toothless in the gut with both wingtips. Bringing my feet up to grab his club between them. I slide back on the desk as Slowpoke makes a lunge, missing me and hitting the club on the desk.

Spinning on the desk, I drop off on the other side of the desk onto my feet, leaving the removed club on the ground where I landed.

Toothless is gasping for air and down on one knee.

"You'd think with less teeth it'd be easier to breathe." I smile at Speedy, thumbing over my shoulder at Toothless.

Slowpoke makes another lunge with his club. A well-placed kick with my left heel leaves him out cold, sprawled on her desk.

Toothless gets up and tries to hobble away, more than likely to trip an alarm. I drop him like a sack of Idaho's, with the club I took from Slowpoke's grasp.

"Now, as I was saying," I stare in the receptionist's eyes, "Is the murderer of the residence in?"

*************************************************

I'm no longer in the mood for games.

I've been playing cat and mouse long enough, dodging security teams here and there. Everyone seems to be looking for me, big surprise there. I walk into an Embassy and take out two guards. The good thing is the local authorities won't be in on this, this is Colombian soil.

I was reminded of that on my first visit here.

The receptionist out front was actually slightly helpful. She told me what floor securities headquarters was on, not thinking I would be dumb enough to waltz in and say hi.

She obviously goes by the old saying "the clothes make the man," if indeed she thought I wasn't dumb enough to do so.

It certainly surprised the small team that was here when I got here. I got a little blood on Jones's bat, I hope he doesn't get mad.

I'm sitting in front of a wall of monitors now, searching for Gallager. 

Got him. 

And two others I recognize from my previous excursions here.

I clean the bat off on someone's shirt. They'll live, all seven of them. They'll just wake with a headache even Exedrin couldn't help.

*************************************************

I destroyed every monitor device I could before I headed for the floor I saw Gallager on. 

The thirtieth floor.

I just climbed in the window of an office. After all, they have to be expecting a guy to take the elevator or stairs, right? The office is spacious and neat, flowers everywhere; must be a woman's office. Pictures are on a wall, which I scanned for Pooh but didn't find her.

I enter the hallway; no one is there. The place is practically a host town.

The hair on the back of my neck stands up, worst of all I'm not sure why.

Casually walk to my left and let my ears try and pick up something; it doesn't take long. Conversation and it doesn't sound pretty. I get to the door and try the handle as quietly as possible, locked. Head back to the office I was in before and search for a bobby pin or something. No pin, but I am armed with a paper clip now.

I get back to the door and the words are still flowing like beer at a bachelor party. Pick the lock with deftness I didn't know I still had after losing so much sleep, and enter.

*************************************************

They stare at me for what seems like an eternity.

I walked in and tried my smart-ass mouth, I can remember making a joke about trying to find a bathroom or something.

But I'm staring at something I didn't expect to find.

Gallager, Rhino, a guy from the photo, a pretty female, and the last person I get to see due to a sharp pain to the base of my skull followed by blackness.

Detective Greene.

*************************************************

****

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

*************************************************

__

Lavender.

I've been dreaming of the smell of Lavender, the smell that reminds me of Pooh. She never wore anything, or at least she told me that, but she always seemed to smell of lavender.

Now I'm in that half-awake/half-asleep mode where you're not sure which way is up. It's usually easier to tell when there is at least a little light. But why would things be made easy for me? It's almost as if I have this ability to do everything the "hard" way. Trouble just seems to follow my life; rather it leaps ahead of me and trips me up constantly.

__

Lavender.

That unmistakable smell is still with me, surrounding me.

I don't know how long I've been out, but I'm no longer in the room. That much is positive. Least I got some much-needed rest.

__

Making jokes doesn't lessen the severity of the situation at hand.

Yeah, yeah. I know.

__

Greene.

Oh believe me, I won't forget.

I'm cramped and can't move, it's dark and that feeling of movement, with a sound in the background, humming… I'm in a trunk. Probably taking me somewhere out of the way. But why didn't they kill me right away?

**__**

Hand it over, or your next.

They think I have something, they won't kill me till they get it. Too bad I don't know what it--

Stopped.

I can no longer feel the movement; the background hum is gone too.

__

Never underestimate them.

I now realize, I haven't been dreaming that smell.

It's in here with me.

**************************

Light slams my head like a shotgun blast.

"Out." I hear the disembodied voice.

The light is so bright compared to the darkness of the trunk that I can't even make out shapes just yet.

I sit up and bump my head on something.

"You dent that trunk and I'll have your ass." There's no accent in the voice.

"Been dreaming of that day haven't you Greene?" I can't move my arms; must be cuffed.

"Oh that's smart, make fun of my manhood" Greene starts.

"Is it any smarter than threatening a dead man with bodily harm?" I smirk to myself at the thought of it. "You dent that trunk and I'll have your ass." I toss back his words at him in my best imitation of his voice.

"Friggen smart-ass, you ever get sick of your own voice?" I can hear some congested laughing; we aren't alone.

"No… you have an aspirin?" I glance at a large shape in front of me and smile.

Laughter erupts as I'm jerked from the trunk faster than I can think and thrown to the floor.

Rhino.

I know.

__

Dirt floor.

Well, I'm outside. I guess that's better than a dark basement somewhere.

"You are a funny one." I hear another voice, this time with a Spanish accent. "You're going to die and here you ask for an aspirin?"

"You'd deny a dying man his last request?" I cough and taste the copper of my blood.

"Get the kid an aspirin, he took a hard shot." I can just make out Greene in front of me.

"Thanks."

"No problem kid. You would have made a great detective, you know?" His hands are holding a shotgun.

Harder for forensics.

I stand up and face him; the gun is leveled at my gut. "You could have been one too, but you chose the wrong side."

"A hero to the end, huh kid?" It is Greene; my vision is starting to come back.

"Enough of this, shoot this pato and let's head back." The voice is deep and Hispanic.

"Rhino in a china shop," I say under my breath and then turn to see the large one I call Rhino at the back of the trunk, "No one has brought you up to speed?" I ask aloud.

Rhino crosses his arms.

"No?" I shrug my shoulders and look at the car behind him.

Police Cruiser.

"You want to lay it all out for them, or shall I?" I spin to face him. "Greene?"

His face is contorted into what can only be a sneer. "They're told what they need to be told."

"So are you," I step closer to him, "Who's pulling the strings Greene?"

Greene is wearing his badge on his belt buckle, which disgusts me. Such disrespect to the many good men and women that have died wearing such a badge to protect and serve the innocent.

__

Pooh.

Greene smiles and takes his sunglasses off with his left hand. "You ain't going to get squat out of me."

I make an exaggerated attempt at counting the party. "C'mon Green… there are four of you and I'm alone."

Greene looks at his comrades: Rhino with his arms crossed, Slowpoke trying to open a bottle of aspirin, and Toothless wearing the Gotham Knights cap and trying to smile. "I've seen this movie, I tell you and you get away… no thanks."

"Movie?" Toothless asks.

"Always slow on the uptake aren't you?" I glance over my shoulder at Toothless and then right back to Greene.

"Don't forget the part where I kill them and torture the hell out of you." I tilt my head to one side and smirk with a shrug.

__

Heroes are made at times like these.

Greene levels the shotgun toward my head. "What if I don't give you the chance?"

"Then your boss will be quite upset." I dig my left foot into the dirt.

"We won't say shit." Slowpoke chimes in.

"And I know you won't say anything," Greene gestures towards me with the shotgun.

__

One more second.

My heartbeat is slowing with time; everything is about to become a blur of motion. Adrenaline, love the stuff.

"And I know I won't--" Greene starts by gesturing toward himself with his hand; the gun moves away from me slightly--

__

Heroes are made at times like these.

**__**

Now!

**************************

I throw the dirt at Greene with my foot, nailing him in the eyes. And leap to the left as the shotgun goes off. I tuck and roll on the ground, while bringing the cuffs underneath my legs, allowing my hands to be in front.

The shot struck Rhino square in the chest, I can hear the sucking chest wound he now wears a badge all his own, a badge of stupidity.

Greene is still blind and cocking the shotgun. Slowpoke is still staring in awe, but Toothless has his 9mm out and trained on me.

Why couldn't he have been shot first?

Car!

Toothless is slammed up against the police cruiser with the force of another vehicle.

I can't see him, but the Gotham Knights flag still hangs in the window of the cab.

__

Jones!

He must be mad about Toothless wearing his cap.

__

Greene?!

I spin my head and catch Greene bringing the gun to bear on me. I run toward the cruiser and slide across the roof headfirst towards Slowpoke. Who, true to his name, is just getting his gun out of the holster.

I take the automatic .45 out of his hands as I slide by and behind him.

As I tuck and roll I can feel that I've been shot, then Slowpoke headlands next to me. 

Least I think it's him, the face is gone by the sheer force of the shot I never heard, but the buckshot is also in my left leg. But the true tip-off is the bottle of aspirin lying next to him.

"You little shit!" I hear Greene call.

__

Jones!

I poke my head up and see through the windows of the cruiser that Jones is just peeking up over the steering wheel.

Greene is now looking his way.

"Where the hell did you come from?" Greene screams as he brings the gun to bear on Jones.

He stalks his way toward Jones; I stand and walk toward him, and around the cruiser. Aiming the .45 on him all the way.

"Nigger, get out of the cab!" Greene screams.

"Drop it or I drop you." The gun rests firmly in my hands, the chain of the cuffs dangle slightly and is hitting the metal of the .45. 

It's the only sound I can hear now; even my heartbeat seems to have taken a little time off. "Jones, you'll be fine. I won't let anything happen to you."

"Yeah? Like you protected Miss Michaels?"

__

He's pressing your buttons, don't let him.

I should kill him where he stands.

I cock the hammer.

Greene seems amused at the sight. "That isn't your style Grayson."

"You made this my style. You killed her. Why?" The gun sways slightly, but he's still in my sights.

"She was a no good whore. You weren't the only Dick she loved." Greene smiles and I feel my stomach get ill very quickly. "Get it?"

"You call her that again and I will kill you." The gun steadies and feels so right in my hands.

__

Don't let him push you, you are in control.

Jones' face is not as full of fear as I thought he should be at that time, but I guess at his age, he's seen a lot of stuff go down. He smiles at Greene.

__

You are in control.

"What the hell are you smiling at, nigger?" Greene puts the gun against his temple and for a second I think I'll have to kill him.

Jones smiles brightly and then makes eye contact with me. "He never cocked the shotgun."

__

You are in control.

I **am** in control.

Greene's face turns red and he starts to cock the shotgun. I run towards him and slide tackle him, taking out Greene's legs out from under him. He falls on top of me and I roll him so his back is against the ground and my cuffs are under his throat choking him.

**************************

"Sir?" 

Greene's eyes start to roll back in his head.

"Sir?!" Jones shakes me as he shouts to me.

"C'mon youngster, I saw the whole thing." His eyes are filled with kindness as a breeze ruffles his white hair.

I release my grip on Greene's throat and stand, stepping back off of him. Greene sits up and is coughing madly. I kick his shotgun away with my right foot. And throw the .45 onto the hood of the cruiser.

Greene points a finger at Jones' back as he walks toward Toothless. "Damn nigger! If I would have cocked that--" 

"You did cock it." Jones stops and smiles at him just as kindly as he did to me.

"Why'd you do it Jones?" I stare in his eyes, and find something.

Care.

"I told him he didn't cock it so he'd--" Jones leans down and plucks his cap from an unconscious Toothless.

"No, no. Not that. Why'd you come after me? Why'd you risk your life for me?"

Jones does that smile of care at me and claps his large hand on my left shoulder, while placing the cap where it belongs.

__

Heroes are made at times like these.

"I just came for my hat."

****************************************************************************

****

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

****************************************************************************

I pull the cord tight enough for Greene to feel it tear at the skin on his wrists, but he can't say anything about it; Jones had already taped his mouth shut.

"Got sick of the slurs." Jones' eyes were bright with laughter as he tugged his cap tighter on his head.

"Can't say I blame you." I push a mumbling Greene down into the trunk.

Jones slams the trunk then slaps it with one of his large hands. "What now?"

"I can take it from here Jones." Jones makes it easy for me to smile.

Jones just nods his silent agreement with his smile in place.

"I just can't figure out where the bat is." I let the sentence hang there.

"Probably still at the Embassy." Jones muses out-loud.

"How much time?" I ask while checking the position of the sun.

"Called for the ambulance about ten minutes ago." Jones leans back on the trunk.

Muffled shouts and some thumping can be heard from the cruiser's trunk. Rhino was dead, nothing Jones or I could do for him, Slowpoke will have to have his dental records checked, but Toothless will live.

We made sure to do everything that could be done for Toothless, he's in bad shape and unconscious. 

"Not that, how long was I out?" I'm running the things I've learned in the past few days through my mind.

"About four hours." Jones takes out a toothpick and places it between his teeth.

"Hey," Jones says with a shrug, after noticing that I was watching. "I got hungry." 

Laughing I check the tape around my legs where Greene shot me; the bleeding has tapered off a bit.

Jones did a good job fixing me up.

"Kid, you look like you been through a war." Jones says, picking at his teeth with the little piece of wood, while eyeing all the gauze and tape over my body.

"You would know," I smile knowingly at him, "'Nam?"

Jones smirks at me. "Yeah."

"Medic?" 

"Yeah." He says absently as if remembering some things he's seen in his lifetime.

I sigh the word out, "Yeah."

"Anyway," Jones starts, "You're a cop?"

I try to put weight on the leg. The pain causes me to do it more gingerly than I had been able to do; the adrenaline must be wearing down.

"I'm working on it." I glance at the police cruiser with the unseen detective in the trunk. "Looks like I have my work cut out for me."

"Bludhaven isn't the safest city, that's for sure." Jones smiles as he tosses the pick into the grass off to the side.

"Funny… very funny." I chuckle to Jones, the guy has been in 'Nam and Gotham and is complaining about the safety of Bludhaven. I find it amusing.

"This all has to do with the funeral, right?" Jones waves his hand around to encompass the mayhem surrounding us.

"Yeah… the guy in the trunk--" 

"They killed your girl." Jones interrupts.

"Yeah." I say staring at him wondering how he knew that this was all over a girl.

"Love." Jones' eyes sparkle. "It makes us do crazy stuff at times."

"You saying I'm nuts?" I laugh at the thought of the notion.

"A "normal" guy doesn't walk into a place looking for a murderer, armed with a tiny little bat and dry wit." Jones stands to his full height and shrugs his shoulders to allow his jacket to fall back into place.

"I guess not." I stare at Toothless lying bandaged up in the dirt.

The smell in the trunk was definitely Pooh. Greene must have had her in the trunk at some point recently. She was killed at my apartment, so she was alive when she was in the trunk.

But Greene isn't the mind behind this.

Someone else is pulling the strings.

"When you saw me carried out, was there anyone else?" I looked up from the body toward Jones.

He's stretching in front of his cab. "Nope. Just the four of them, they carried you out about 2 hours after you went in."

"Thought I told you to leave after 15 minutes?" I can feel my smirk.

"I must have lost track of the time." Jones smiled knowing that I knew he didn't, he just said as much a sentence ago.

"Gonna have to buy you a watch." I wink at him.

"Gotham Knights, of course." Jones returns my wink.

"Of course."

"So what was her name?" I can tell by his voice, Jones is trying not to pry.

"Pooh." My mind drifts a bit with memories.

"This was your pet name for her, huh?" Jones walks towards me a bit.

"Yeah."

"I'm sure she was a sweet kid."

Jones' bright smile brings me back to the here and now. "Actually I haven't seen her in about five years."

"Long time to be away from someone you love." Jones tugs at his cap again and eyes the trunk of the cruiser. "She must have gotten into something fairly deep."

"Like I said," My mind starts to wander again, "I haven't seen her in quite a while."

"Think about it, you're smart." Jones smiles at me. "Put two and two together."

"What do ya mean?" I look at him holding his cap and scratching his head.

"Well," Jones looks around like he doesn't know where to start, "We know she worked at the Embassy."

"Right, I went through this with you already."

"Right." Jones walks toward the cruiser. "You said you could tell Pooh was in the trunk?"

"Yes." I've been through this in my mind a thousand times.

"Is this Greene's cruiser?" Jones makes a wave over the car with his cap like he was doing a magic trick.

"You know?" I glance at the side of the cruiser. "I don't know."

"Well, I'd check that out if I were you." Jones then glances at Toothless. "He from the embassy?"

"Yeah, just a guard there." I nod towards Toothless.

Sirens.

Jones' head spins to look toward the sound, then back into my eyes. "Go."

"You got it Jones." I smile at him and walk towards the cruiser.

"How can I get in touch with you?" Jones asks.

"If you need me." I stop and turn and smile at Jones.

I make an exaggerated wave with my hands toward the air.

"I'll be at the Embassy."

***************************************


End file.
